


When In Qarth

by firelark



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Future Fic, Loss of Virginity, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-07-03
Packaged: 2018-01-27 17:07:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1718138
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firelark/pseuds/firelark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Daenerys gives Sansa a traditional Qartheen dress to wear, she is mortified. But what does the Hound think of her new fashion choice?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

This was surely a jape, and one that Sansa suspected was at her expense. She held up the pale green gown once more. No, it was unmistakeable. The top right half of the dress was almost entirely missing!

Sansa picked up the note that had arrived with the garment. Bearing the Targaryen sigil on the front and written in Daenerys’ usual hurried but firm handwriting, the note was short and to the point.

_Lady Sansa,_

_I’m sure you will find this dress more suitable for the Qartheen climate. Please wear this at tonight’s feast._

At first, Sansa had been pleasantly surprised when she had torn open the package to reveal such a delicately crafted dress. Sansa knew at once that she had never worn such a beautiful gown in her life, as she turned it over and admired the embossed silver flowers and matching silver belt. It was only after unfolding it completely and holding it up to the window light that she had noticed the deep cut right across the middle of the bodice. A cut that would expose her right breast entirely.

Sansa blushed deeply at the thought of even leaving her room in this dress, let alone walking through Qarth with her bare breast on display for all to see. It was not as if she hadn’t seen Qartheen women wearing similar dresses, but the sight had always made Sansa flustered and uncomfortable, and she had secretly been thankful for the modest Northern dress she had arrived in.

Still, it _was_ stiflingly hot in her chambers…not to mention, the one condition Daenerys had demanded upon her acceptance of Sansa into her service was her unwavering obedience. It seemed silly to upset Daenerys over something as trivial as a dress.

Sansa was only just beginning to realize the inconvenience of pledging complete and utter obedience. Daenerys could ask her to show up to the feast stark naked and Sansa would have to oblige.

A loud rap on the door interrupted Sansa’s thoughts.

“It is already half past six, Lady Stark,” said her sworn shield, and Sansa could sense his barely restrained impatience. “The sooner you put on that dress, the sooner we can all eat.”

With a jolt, Sansa realized Sandor, as she had grown accustomed to calling him, would be the first to see her in all her new Qartheen glory. The thought of Sandor’s eyes on that area of her body left a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach. Nervousness, embarrassment…and excitement? The realization that part of her was starting to warm to the idea of wearing this dress left her so stunned that she almost forgot that Sandor was likely waiting for a response.

“Forget it,” he said. “At this rate, we’re likely to miss the feast altogether.”

“Just a minute,” Sansa called.

She hurriedly slipped into the dress and fastened the belt. Her jewelry and hair had already been fixed earlier by her maid, the latter brushed to a glossy sheen and hanging simply around her shoulders. It swung behind her as she pulled open the door and interrupted Sandor mid-grumble.

“Ready,” she said, offering her arm.

He did not take it though. In fact, for once, Sandor Clegane seemed incapable of movement at all. Following his gaze, she looked down at her semi-exposed chest and blushed. Her nipple was hard and pointed, broadcasting to all and sundry the extent of Sansa’s excitement. In this heat, there was no way she could blame it on the cold air. After what seemed like a thick eternity, he cleared his throat and averted his eyes. He finally collected himself enough to speak.

“Hurry,” he said hoarsely. “Her Grace doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

By chance, the arm she had extended to him was her right one, and as he took it, the side of her breast grazed his cold metal armor. She shivered, and their eyes locked for a brief moment before he looked away. Sansa tried to hide her small smile and the lust that was shooting through her core. Perhaps Daenerys should pick her clothes out more often, Sansa thought. The night would certainly be an interesting one.

The feast was filled with the Qartheen elite, from wealthy spice traders and charming merchants to exotic women and princes from islands Sansa had never heard of. The people were all elegant and their accents silky smooth, but Sansa’s thoughts kept drifting to the non-knight who stood in his coarse, sweaty metal not far behind her. He appeared bored, wearing the same disinterested expression that she remembered so well from their King’s Landing days, but Sansa did not miss the way he snuck peeks at what she was wearing every so often. Or rather, what she wasn’t wearing.

The Qartheen didn’t bat an eyelash at her clothing choice; in fact, many of the merchants’ wives had complimented her on her fine dress. It seemed that Sandor alone had a noticeable visceral reaction to it.

Daenerys was busy talking and laughing with the Qartheen elite, so it was already halfway through the feast when she finally reached Sansa’s seat, smiling down at her with that disarming purple gaze.

“I have to admit, Lady Stark. I’m surprised. I thought surely you were going to show up in another one of your boring gray dresses like you did in Pentos. That’s why I thought it fitting to send a dress directly to you.”

“I swore an oath,” Sansa reminded her.

“And you look lovely,” Daenerys said.

“Your Grace is too kind.”

Daenerys wasn’t listening though, her eyes sliding past Sansa and fixing on the man behind her.

“Someone else certainly seems to agree,” she whispered, smirking. “Your sworn shield can’t keep his eyes off you, the poor hungry dog.”

“Oh, I don’t know.”

“Nonsense. He’s looking right now. Have you lain with him yet?”

Sansa nearly choked on her sweetwine. She wiped her mouth as daintily as she could, all the while wondering what Daenerys was up to.

“Your Grace, is this really appropriate?”

“I’m sure he’d be more than willing to warm your bed if you only said the word,” she continued, ignoring Sansa’s feeble protests. “For the right price, no one would hear a thing. Think about it.” 

Daenerys winked and walked on, leaving Sansa confused and just a bit bothered.

This thought refused to leave her head later when Sandor escorted her back to her chambers in the large manse.

“I take it you enjoyed the feast?”

“Their food is too rich, and their wine too sweet,” he replied. “With all of these feasts planned, they mean to fatten up your guards and render them useless.”

“And the people?”

“Shallow, vain liars—the whole lot of them. I smell the stench of King’s Landing all over again.”

“And my dress?”

He was caught off guard then.

“What do you think Eddard Stark would think about his daughter parading around Qarth in that dress?” he said.

“I asked what _you_ thought, Sandor.” She tried to hide her smile.

“Don’t toy with me, girl,” he said, his tone suspicious and slightly dangerous.

She looked him squarely in the eyes then, waiting for his honest reply. He said he would never lie to her, she remembered with a warm rush of affection, and she knew he never would. He seemed to have caught the honesty in her blue eyes as well, since he relaxed, just a little.

“It’s...pleasing. To the eye,” he finally said. “The Qartheen have interesting taste.”

“Quite interesting. It seems to have grown on me though. Perhaps I’ll send for more dresses like this one. Would you like that?” she said, trying to look as innocent as possible then.

Sandor stepped closer, and grabbed her wrist. It took Sansa a moment to realize he was shaking.

“Exactly what game are you playing at, little bird? Acting the temptress, is it?” He leaned in as he said it, his hot breath caressing her face.

They were so close that she felt his cool armor against her flushed flesh again. The sensation was exhilarating and thrilling, and Sansa wished desperately for him to stay there forever. She placed her hand on his arm as if to hold him there, and looked up at his gray eyes again, now stormy and troubled.

Before she could even say a word, he had swooped down and covered her mouth with his. She dimly tasted the sweetness of the wine they had both had at dinner, before he gently urged her mouth open and she felt his tongue dart against her own, sending a jolt down her spine. Somehow one or both of them had managed to open the door and they stumbled across the threshold as one, slamming the door behind them with finality.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Picking up where the last chapter left off...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait between chapters! My life’s been crazy this past month, but hopefully this chapter will make up for it. ;)

Sansa winced as the door shut with a deafening thud that seemed to reverberate through the lofty manse. She detached herself from Sandor’s embrace and automatically moved to the door as if to silence it, but the damage was already done, and she was sure that the gossip would be making its way across the Narrow Sea by sunrise.

 

“Fucking door,” Sandor swore under his breath, and Sansa was suddenly very much aware that she was standing alone in her bedchamber with Sandor Clegane. Sandor Clegane, her sworn shield and now lover? If not for the taste of sour wine now caressing her lips, she would have thought herself dreaming.

 

The shock must have crept onto her face, because Sandor’s glare at the door had hardened into one of his dark scowls. Sansa knew him well enough to know that she had wounded him.

 

“I can find my way out, little bird,” he said, his voice a little too even. “And in the morning we can forget this all happened. A dream. Too much wine…” Before Sansa could figure out what to say next, he was turning away towards the door.

 

Through some instinct she wasn’t even aware of, her hand shot out and grabbed his forearm.

 

“Wait.”

 

Sansa willed him to look up, but his eyes were frozen on the way her little white hand had clasped around his forearm, straining against his cold mail. With strength she didn’t even know she possessed, she slowly and carefully moved his muscled arm towards her pounding chest. Was that her heart making such a racket or was it his breathing? She wasn’t sure, but the room seemed to be consumed with the sound.

 

She slowly and steadily guided his hand to rest on her exposed breast, and she gasped as a new feeling raced down to her core, warming her insides and making her stomach tingle.

 

Before she could even open her eyes, his other arm had slipped behind her to steady her while the other was waging a war with her dress. It finally tore straight across the front, freeing her covered breast and leaving her entirely bare above the waist. He took a moment to lean back and grin at the sight before diving into her neck and kissing up the nape.

 

“Been meaning to do that all day,” he was whispering in her ear, and it was all too much. Sansa thought for certain her knees were going to give out if they didn’t move to her bed soon.

 

Whether it was from the urgency in her kisses or the eager little sounds she was making, he seemed to know her mind, and he swiftly bent down and scooped her up in his arms.

 

Through the haze of her bliss, Sansa remembered a time when Sandor had scooped her up the same way, after the bread riots of King’s Landing when she was just a slip of a girl. That time, he had deposited her safe and sound at the Red Keep, but now he was bringing her somewhere else entirely, and as he lowered her gingerly--lowered her as if she would break—Sansa was reminded of his surprisingly gentle gestures, both then and now.

 

She leaned up to kiss him again, puckering her lips out in her best imitation of the princesses and ladies of her childhood stories. Instead of mocking her, as he might have done in the past, he bent over her and kissed her deeply in return. Sansa vaguely remembered the Battle of the Blackwater, and the brutal kiss they had shared in the green glow of the wildfire. This was an entirely different kind of kissing though, and despite the men she had kissed before, Sansa found herself shy and inexperienced like the maiden she truly was.

 

Any fears she had, however, dissipated once he broke off to study her bare torso with an approving smile. She smiled in return, and he gave her a quick peck on the lips before he got to work trying to move away the rest of her dress.

 

Before she knew it, she was bare as her nameday, and her dress was just a heap on the floor.

 

“Seven hells,” he muttered. “If I could pick the last thing I saw in this life, it would be this.” Sansa blushed, knowing Sandor was not one to dole out lavish praise.

 

He brushed a hand against her nipple and they both watched as it hardened. Sansa shivered, and a thought seemed to occur to him.

 

“Little Bird, do you trust me?”

 

“Always.”

 

Neither of them doubted that truth.

 

In response, he bent down between her legs and hitched them forward, dragging her closer to him.

 

She felt his hot breath against her inner thighs and suddenly he was lapping at her _down there_ , like a dog licking at his water dish. She barely had a moment to take in how queer of a concept that was before a wave of pleasure seemed to knock her over, and she was moaning, a soft mewling sound that was entirely foreign to her. At the first moan, Sandor looked up, his eyes wicked and playful.

 

From below, Sansa could hear a barely audible wetness, like Arya’s toes when she used to walk barefoot in the mud, and her next moan was one of surprise when she realized the sound was coming from her. Or rather, _that part_ of her.

 

“Such an eager learner,” Sandor said, chuckling. “I would frig you for hours just to hear you sing so prettily.”

 

It did not take hours, however, for Sansa to peak. Her hips surged off the mattress and her moans rang loud and clear and so thick with lust that one could slice it and serve it on a lemon cake.

 

She rewarded him with a deep kiss when he rejoined her near the head of the bed, and she found herself pleasantly surprised by the taste of herself on his lips.

 

“Are you ready for me?” he asked as he stood up and undressed, and Sansa nodded vigorously. She had dreamt of this night so often in her cold lonely bed at the Eyrie that she could scarcely believe that it was actually happening now. When she told him that, he laughed and laughed.

 

“Dreaming of an old dog like me?”

 

“Not just any old dog. The fearsome Hound.”

 

“Tell me, Little Bird, does your Hound still look fearsome now?” he asked, as he removed his last underclothes and stood before her in all his glory. Her eyes wandered from his infamous face down to his broad shoulders and hardened chest, flickering from scar to scar, before they landed on his manhood. For years, she had wondered what lay beneath his mail, and now to her pleasure, she had a pure, unobstructed view of him. 

 

“A hound cannot scare a wolf,” she said, as she took his hand and guided him to the bed. “But a hound can mate with one.”

 

He grinned and positioned himself at her entrance, steadying himself above her with the other hand.

 

“After this, there's no going back,” he said. Sansa realized he was waiting for her to tell him to stop, and her heart seemed to swell with that knowledge. She kissed him, lightly this time, and nodded.

 

He pushed, first a little, then much harder, until finally he broke through her maidenhood. She cried out in pain, and he froze.

 

“Sansa,” he said, sounding surprisingly nervous. “What in Seven Hells was that?”

 

“My maidenhood,” she said. Her voice was faint, but she did her best to smile through the pain. It was already subsiding, she found, and she wished he would start again.

 

“You didn’t tell me….I didn’t know. The Imp--”

 

“It matters not," she said abruptly. She stared into his anxious eyes, willing him to believe her. He didn't look convinced, so she kissed him again, this time slow and sweet.

 

"I _chose_ you.” She said it with all the conviction in the world. She said it the same way she had said her name, her real name, when Daenerys Targaryen had questioned her at the Eyrie.

 

And because he seemed too frozen to move, she arched her back and tilted her hips up to meet him. She was rewarded with a groan from Sandor and a new and foreign feeling deep in her pelvis with each thrust forward. As the pain became more and more distant, each thrust started to feel almost pleasant, and soon she was starting to understand why so many bawdy songs had been written about this act.

 

It wasn’t long before he started to meet her at each thrust, pushing his own hips forward and hitting her deeper and deeper each time.

 

“We’re having a buggering talk about this after,” he said between his panting, coming out more breathy than demanding

 

“I know,” she could only say in response. She felt full, she felt happy, and for once, she felt fulfilled.

 

A few moments later, his body tensed and shook before he fell against her, their skin flushed and their breathing heavy. She pushed his hair back and cupped the scarred side of his face with her hand.

 

“What will the maids think when they find us in bed together come morning?” he murmured, turning his face into her hand and dropping a kiss in her palm.

 

“I hope they talk,” Sansa said, giggling. “Dany would be proud.”

 

Later, when he was soaping the blood off her thighs with the tenderness befitting a lover, her gaze wandered to the remnants of the Qartheen dress on the floor.

 

When in Qarth indeed, Sansa thought. Perhaps Her Grace was wiser than she thought.

**Author's Note:**

> So it might not make a whole lot of sense for Dany to return to Qarth and for future!Sansa to go with her (and frankly, I was too lazy to give an explanation for it), but please bear with me and pretend like this is believable for the sake of the story. Part 2 will be up soon!


End file.
